


Like that Eels Song

by sloth



Category: Leverage
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 05:00:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sloth/pseuds/sloth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot's theory is that Hardison spent too much time playing with his joystick and got that carpal whatsit thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like that Eels Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lomedet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomedet/gifts).



“Aw, _hells_ to the no,” Hardison says. He points his thumb to his chest. “This right here is a _lone wolf_.” The thumb is the only thing outside of his cast, or else he would probably be using a different finger right about now.

 

Parker pouts. It _should_ look cute, but instead it just looks psychotic. That’s the toss-up with Parker. Well, if you have a three-faced coin, that is, because there’s also the probability that she’ll land on ‘freakish levels of unadulterated hot’ – actually, that side is probably weighted or something, because she lands on it a lot of the time. “I’m just saying, you’ll probably have trouble –“

 

“_Any_ trouble I have is _my_ business,” Hardison says, then yelps when Eliot grabs at his other wrist and hauls him to the bedroom.

 

Eliot rolls his eyes at Parker. “I’ll help the idiot get dressed,” he growls, closing the door behind him.

 

...

 

Eliot’s theory is that Hardison spent too much time playing with his joystick and got that carpal whatsit thing.

 

Nate thinks Hardison tripped and crashed and broke his wrist after another one of his forty-hour awake marathons induced extreme clumsiness.

 

Parker broke hers almost exactly the same way, once, or actually had it broken – foster father #3 – and she’s weirdly both fascinated and concerned for Hardison, wants to mother his wound while also poking at it repeatedly.

 

Sophie isn’t around to have any kind of opinion at all.

 

...

 

 

It’s Hardison’s dominant hand, which would be annoying except his first love (his computer) demands near ambidexterity in her usage, so he’s not actually all that helpless with his undamaged one. He manages _just fine_, thank you.

 

...

 

Okay, so, he manages just fine when it comes to getting himself a drink, or a snack, or browsing the net – except typing is a bitch, a bitch who trashes your place and steals your car and bluescreens your baby, a man bitch, the bitchiest bitch of them all – and if Hardison can’t code or hack then he doesn’t know what he’s for, it’s like, an identity crisis or something – and, also, this breaking your wrist thing doesn’t actually stop hurting even a full day after the act. Every time Hardison so much as breathes it hurts his arm.

 

He’s tense and snappy and irritable, and at the end of the day in his room he has this dilemma, right, where he’s wearing clothes he doesn’t want to sleep in, except there aren’t a lot of options that don’t also come with a lot of pain. He’s contemplating his choices. That’s when Parker drops from the ceiling.

 

The way she lands is a moment of freakish levels of unadulterated hot. The way she jostles his cast with her stabbing accusatory finger is actually cute. Her words, though, are definitely psychotic: “Eliot and I _knew_ you couldn’t be trusted. I’m going to go let him in.”

 

“Wha – hey, _no_,” Hardison protests. Then he pauses and adds, “When did you start hanging out on my ceiling anyway?”

 

“Please,” she rolls her eyes. What that means, Hardison doesn’t know. She flings open his door and announces, “We were right. He needs a keeper.”

 

Eliot is standing on the other side. He’s holding a pair of scissors. Hardison’s eyes widen. “There are two ways to do this,” Eliot says. “The way that hurts, and the way that hurts _more_.”

 

...

 

After the whole scuffle-induced adrenaline rush, Hardison should probably stay awake longer than he manages. Parker camps out at the head of his bed, watching bad 60’s sci fi. He falls asleep to her bizarre snorting laugh (initially scary as hell, but now, kinda cute). Eliot wakes him up for more pain meds and the first course of what turns out to be a six course meal. Parker eats cheerios dry from a cup.

 

Lone wolf. Yeah. 


End file.
